Camilla Ch. 087

After finishing her classes at York on Tuesday afternoon, 'Goth-looking' Camilla packed her bags and left Candice's apartment, reminding the lover she was dumping that, only if Candice got Don's pistol out of Camilla's locker in Club Ritz, and used it to shoot Carrie, would Camilla come back to Candice.

As 'Goth-looking' Candice watched Camilla take her bags into the elevator, and watched the elevator doors close, did Candice cry, or plead--however uselessly--to make Camilla change her mind and come back? No: Candice just watched Camilla go, staring with wild eyes and a facial expression that said, kill, kill, kill. But kill whom?

****************

Later that afternoon, Camilla psychically changed her black-haired, black-eyed, pale 'Goth' look back to her original blonde, blue-eyed, peach-skinned look just before arriving in a cab at Patrick's house with her bags. The cabbie was stunned at her transformation, but quietly took her fare money and drove away.

Patrick helped Camilla take her bags inside his house, and put them on the floor in the living room. He and Camilla then sat on the sofa together; he looked out the window he'd looked through when seeing her with Gregg.

Looking back at her coldly, Patrick said, "You fucked Gregg last Saturday night."

"No, I didn't," she lied in her 'Dolly' voice, as she would speak for most of the rest of the conversation.

"Don't lie to me, Camilla," he said with growing anger. "I saw you, naked, getting out of his car with him and going into his house. I was watching through this window."

"OK, OK," she admitted. "I won't do it again." She leaned forward and, smiling, looked in his eyes. "Do you still want me?"

"Of course."

"How much do you want me?"

"For always," Patrick said.

"Oh, you don't really mean that," she said, knowing full well he did, but testing him all the same.

"I do. Really. Loving you always will redeem me."

"You mean loving me just for your late wife's sake."

"No, it's much more than that," he said. "Look, I've become really attached to you in this short time; I don't know how, I don't know why, I just need you. I'm in love with you. What makes you so addictive? Is it that 'psychic power' you keep talking about? Maybe I'm just going crazy, and I know this is sudden, but I want to marry you."

"Patrick, you just want my body," she said.

"No, it's not just that."

"Yes, it is; but that's OK. I don't mind; I understand. I really like your thing, and how good it makes me feel when it's inside me. And your hands: ooh, I'm getting all gooey inside just thinking about it. Let's screw now."

"Please, Camilla, in a minute. You must understand. I need you. I must marry you."

"But Patrick, I'm really not the marrying kind. If we get married, I'll cheat on you, like with Gregg."

"OK," she began, no longer in her 'Dolly' voice. "My daddy, whom I love more than anything in the world, has been hurt in love before--by my mommy, the bitch! She cheated on him, divorced him, and accused him of molesting me when I was little...but the accusations were lies, to get custody of me! She took me away from him. The pain she gave him drove him to drink!"

"That's awful," Patrick said.

"Yeah. Well, now Daddy's met this new woman--Carrie, ugh!--and she's the same kind of person; I know it, I get only bad psychic vibes from her, and you know how great my psychic powers are. They're accurate: Carrie will hurt my dad: he can't see it, but I know. I can't let her do that. When I warn him, he won't listen. They're getting married soon, and I have to stop it!" She began crying. "The only way I can stop it is...is..."

"Wait a minute; you don't want me to..."

"Shoot her."

"What?"

"I have a gun you can use," Camilla said. "It's in my locker in Club Ritz. I'll show you later. Wear gloves, and I'll use my psychic powers to keep the cops from knowing you did it."

"You're crazy," he said.

"I'm crazy for my daddy's love." When she said those words, her incestuous feelings radiated outward, and he psychically felt them, as Berman had.

"What kind of love is this you have for your dad?"

"Oh, it's innocent," she lied, most unconvincingly.

"You can't seriously expect me to kill his fiancee."

"If you don't, there's no marrying me." She stood up, took off her black dress--the one he'd bought her--and dropped it on the floor; then she kicked off her high heels. Wearing no underwear, she was now naked. She turned around for him, to 'help him' agree to kill Carrie.

"Yeah, buy you expensive jewellery, take you on trips to Hawaii or something; but not that. That's crazy."

"You don't love me," she said bitterly, turning around as if to leave. "Just like you didn't love Lisa."

"Get out!" he shouted. "Get your clothes on and go!"

"You sure about that?" she asked in her 'Dolly' voice again, bending over, spreading her legs, and showing off her pretty brown asshole. Then, looking back at his hungry eyes, she used Nigrovum to cool his anger quickly and heat up his lust. Within seconds, he was completely in her control.

"L-let me fuck that beautiful ass, and I'll kill Carrie."

"Promise first to kill Carrie, and my poo hole's yours."

He paused. "Oh, OK."

"Good," she said. "Now take me upstairs."

"I'm taking you here," he grunted, jumping her. She was on the wooden living room floor on all fours, with her legs spread out and her asshole showing. She took her tube of anal lube out of her purse and handed it to him. He lubed up his cock and her asshole, inside and out, then pushed the tip of his cock against her anal orifice.

"Uh," she moaned as she felt his cock push in an inch or two. As he slid in a few more inches, they were moaning together in alternating ascending and descending pitches.

He got his cock in all the way. "Unh!" he grunted, and she squealed two octaves higher.

Patrick aggressively thrust his cock in and out of her ass, reaching over and fondling her breasts. She fingered her hard clitoris as she felt his cock massaging her every anal wall, stimulating her neighbouring vaginal wall.

As he was ass-fucking her, Dan, his fat neighbour, came by and saw them through the living room window. Dan took out his cell-phone, set it to video, and began recording the ass-fuck.

"Finally," Dan said as he watched the image on his cell-phone. "I get to see the bitch in action. This is what you get for rejecting me, you ho."

Feeling the approach of an anal orgasm, Camilla reached in her purse and pulled out some tissues to catch her come. She covered her soaking pussy with them; when she came, completely drenching her tissues within seconds, a lot of drops still got on the wooden floor. Not wanting to soil his floor any more, she psychically accelerated his excitement, bringing him to ejaculation in the next few seconds.

"Pull it out," she said. "Come on my buns."

"OK," he said, pulling his cock out. He sprayed all over her anal cleft, her right buttock, her gluteal sulcus, and her back just above her left buttock. She took his cock in her hand and gently wiped the residual come from the tip of his cock on her left buttock.

He put his spent penis back in his pants and did them up. Then they lay on the floor, him on his back and her on her front. As they caught their breath, he stared at his come as it dripped off her pretty buns.

Dan kept filming, zooming in on the come on her ass. "That is so great," he said. "Sorry to use you, Patrick, but I have to get my revenge on that nudist cunt."

"Come with me to Club Ritz anytime between now and Thursday night," Camilla said in her normal voice, "and I'll show you where my locker is. Take out the gym bag that's in there. Have you ever fired a gun before?"

"Yeah," Patrick said. "I served in the army years ago."

"Good," she said. "This should be easy, then. Do you remember the house I used to live in? You walked me home one day after school."

That night, Don Josiah sat on his bed and meditated. As had been the case ever since last Friday night, when he'd given Camilla the gym bag with his pistol and box of blanks, he sensed no one going over to her locker in Club Ritz and taking the bag. His psychic powers assured him that it was still safely there, untouched.

He could also vaguely sense that though she'd been continuously going over to the park near his home to do some kind of bizarre 'target practice', but without the gun, she assuredly hadn't ever gone to Agape's house to fire at Carrie.

While he was relieved to know Carrie was still safe, he had conflicts in his mind about Camilla. His aspirations to grow spiritually with Nigrovum were being realized more and more each day, giving him soothing peace of mind; but his love for Camilla was also as strong as ever, since this addictive passion was as inspired by those microscopic black things in his blood as were his spiritual insights.

He wanted her, but was no longer desirable to her. To become a priest again, just to be more appealing to her transgressive lust, would have been an insult to his spiritual calling. But wearing the collar was the only way she'd be willing to be his lover again.

Also, as much as he liked Agape, Don knew her father was a rival for Camilla's love, something Mr. Berman, Candice, and now Patrick knew. His gun was still sitting in that locker, easily accessible to him: he could psychically figure out the correct combination to the lock and get the gym bag. He wanted to retrieve the bag, but why? Out of repentance for having so stupidly given it to Camilla, and so to stop a murder, or out of a desire to do a murder himself? Agape was a rival: killing him would put that problem to an end. Killing Carrie, as hateful an idea as that was to him, might have inspired in Camilla a gratitude that could conceivably have gotten her back in Don's arms.

Madness, he thought; sheer madness! I must wipe those temptations out of my mind.

To fight those thoughts, he closed his eyes and contemplated the Oneness of all things that he had been getting increasingly acquainted with. His visions of an infinite ocean surrounded him, and he felt himself absorbed in its bliss. The slowly undulating waves calmed his troubled heart, and he could now think clearly.

In that deep meditative state, he could feel the psychic presence of Agape and Dr. Singh, who were at that moment also meditating. The three mystics could now mentally commune, and go over their plans together, to help Carrie and Camilla. The men were learning how to navigate that other world, as they called it. In the darkest regions of it, where Camilla's soul was unswervingly headed, the men saw visions of a burning mansion, eerily laughing men in grotesque masks and black suits, and the incessant gang-raping of naked, lost souls of both sexes. The sight was horrifying to contemplate as a fate for Camilla; if she went there, the three mystics, dead or alive, would have to guide her out of it.

The men's plan to save Camilla was a desperate one, and a mad one, but no other way seemed possible. She couldn't be allowed to live for too long in her sinful state. The hell she was ultimately destined for would only be harder to get her out of if she were to continue living, sinning, and accumulating more bad karma as the years went by. She would have to die young.

*****************

On Wednesday afternoon, after finishing her classes at York, 'Goth' Camilla was in Dr. Mason's house again, for her third therapy session. With her black hair tied back in a bun, she was wearing a new skin-tight, one-piece black outfit, to replace the one she'd torn in her fight with Sam and those other men in the parking lot behind Club Ritz. Ready to do some sexy crying for her therapist, she removed her emotionally numbing psychic dome.

She sat at her chair, and Dr. Mason finished writing on his notepad. "So, how are you today, Camilla?" he asked.

"His name's Patrick; I'm shacked up with him. You can still fuck me, though, if you want."

He chuckled. "So, it isn't serious with Patrick."

"No. Not at all," she said. "He has a big dick, and he satisfies my needs."

"He satisfies your physical needs," Dr. Mason said. "But not your need for love. Then you still have no replacement for your father."

"No one can replace Daddy, Doctor."

"Someone must replace him," he said.

She began her rapid-fire, crazy speech again: "Look, I've tried replacements: my profs at York, an artist back in Vancouver named Carl--wow, he was hot; Dr. Davis, who saved me from ODing on speedball once; my former boss, Mr. Holland, whose wife used to hit him; then, of course, there were all my high school teachers, and my old..."

They went upstairs to his bedroom. He took off his shoes, then got some paper towels and put them all over his bed, in anticipation of her gushing come. He pulled off his pants and underwear, and sat on the bed, watching her.

She stood in front of him, slowly dancing and turning around. When her back was to him, he reached up and slowly unzipped her black outfit at the back, pulling the zipper from her neck down to her buttocks. She pulled the skin-tight material off her shoulders and pulled it all down to her feet, bending over with her buttocks just inches from his sniffing nose. She took off her black high heels, then pulled her feet out of the outfit. She was now completely naked. He licked his lips at the sight of her pale, 'Goth-girl' skin.

Still bent over, she spread her legs out wide so he could see her purple pussy and black asshole. She looked back at him upside-down from between her legs, smiling. He licked her all the way from her clitoris up to her asshole in one slow, long, inclusive lick. She squealed with pleasure. Then she got on the bed on all fours, still proudly showing off her pussy and asshole.

He got on the bed behind her, doggy-style, and aimed his hard cock at her wet, inviting vulva. He pushed his knob against her tingling vaginal orifice, sliding his cock in a few inches. She sighed and screamed as she felt his manhood brush against her G-spot. He pushed in further, and she screamed even louder; he got in three-quarters of the way, and she was already approaching orgasm.

As soon as his cock got all the way in, giving her hot A-spot a poke, she gushed her first ejaculation, soaking his cock and balls. He gently jabbed that A-spot again and again, and she screamed and screamed. Her vaginal walls eagerly and tightly embraced his long, thick cock, and she came a second time.

"Oh!" she squealed. "Wanna fuck...my ass, Doc? Ah!"

"OK," he panted, then pulled his cock out of her pussy. He scooped up some of the come she'd soaked his paper towels with, and smeared her asshole with it, pushing his wet finger deep inside and thoroughly lubing it. Then he pushed the tip of his cock against her welcoming, opening anus.

He pushed in a few inches, and she looked back at him with encouraging eyes. He pushed in further, getting in half way.

"Ah!" she groaned. "You like...my poop-hole, Doc? Oh!"

"Oh, yeah," he grunted. "Oh!" He got his cock all the way in, and began thrusting.

He reached over and felt her tits, gently squeezing them and pinching the nipples as he continued fucking her ass. She reached back and fingered her cunt, putting her finger inside and tickling her G-spot. She came a third time.

"That would be...about now," he moaned. "Unh!" He pulled his cock out of her ass.

She got off the bed, and he sat at the side of the bed. She knelt between his legs and took his cock in her hand, raising it up to her mouth. Smiling lewdly at him, she licked the underside of his cock, just under the knob; then she wrapped her wet lips around the knob, sliding his cock in a third of the way.

He suddenly blew his load, and she gulped every blast down, missing nothing. When he was completely spent, she took his flaccid penis out.

"Did I...please you, Doctor?" she asked, looking up into his eyes and grinning.